ex nihilo
by Mark Geoffrey Norrish
Summary: EWE. She visits a country town to bring him back home. After all, it never really ends.


Hermione had first read about the town of Falmouth eight months ago, when she'd gone through a phase of learning everything she could stomach about Quidditch to give herself another point of connection with Ron, and had looked into the home towns of the league teams. It wasn't long before he gently explained that he only cared about the _sport_, not the town history, and she shelved her guide books, but, being Hermione, the ten minutes she'd spent examining the maps had been enough to indelibly burn them into her memory.

The Knight Bus had dropped her off at the outskirts of Muggle Falmouth University, the closest it could get without risking running a student over. Even after all these years, they still hadn't found anyone who could drive. She spared a few glances for the students all around her. If she hadn't had magic, she'd be living a life much like theirs right now. What a thought.

It was late morning on a weekend, and only a handful of students were around, a group in sporting clothes, and few postgraduates who checked her out as she passed. She wore a long sari she'd picked up on a trip overseas, which was enough like a robe to pass in the wizarding world without being too incongruous among Muggles, and a broad straw hat, which she kept low enough to hide her face. Wizards had been staring at her since the war ended; she finally knew how Harry felt, could understand his actions.

She glanced around a few times to make sure she was in the right place before entering the Arts building. Inside, she went the wrong direction at first and had to backtrack to find the King James Lecture Theatre. The door was locked. A window set in the door showed rows of uncomfortable seats and a lectern.

She glanced around. A janitor stood in the hallway. He'd given her a measuring look when she came in, but now his gaze was about a foot away, his eyes slightly glazed. She pulled out her wand and tapped the doorknob, which rattled in response. She twisted it, stepped through, and quickly shut the door behind herself.

It opened into a wide plaza, mostly like the rest of the university, but for the owls perched atop windowsills and the robes and pointed hats of the passersby. Her head panned from left to right, taking in the sights. Overall, it was much like Diagon Alley, if smaller in scale; it was often described as being the local equivalent. The closest shops were Quality Quills, which had the same architecture as a newsagent she'd seen just outside; Laurel's Rest, an unassuming red brick three-storey inn; and Darrel's and Hodge's, a grocery whose windows displayed a mixture of pumpkins, gingerbread and a funny blue vegetable even Hermione didn't recognise. Chalked on the ground and spelled to remain intact as people trod over it was _World Muggle Day March – 13__th__ April_, four days out of date. To her right was a Quidditch pitch, from which emanated constant cheering. She could see three people circling like eagles, as Harry did back when he still played; probably they were all Seekers, playing a variant with more than two teams. Directly ahead of her was a stadium, with the words _Lady Jayden Amphitheatre_ stencilled in bronze. In the centre of the plaza was a lamppost from which hung the sign _Welcome to Moughmough Square_.

She nodded to herself and headed over to the pitch. It looked as though it hadn't changed in years, covered in patches of different wood, with bits chipped out and a few persistent bits of graffiti. Up inside, she could see that there were not three but five teams flying, in scarlet, mauve, cerulean, viridian and nacreous robes respectively. The other two Seekers were buzzing around a central scrimmage, more showing off their agility than searching. An extra Quaffle and two Bludgers were out, and the play was fast and chaotic as a result, with none of the sophisticated manoeuvring she'd seen at the better school matches. These people were clearly flying just for fun. It wasn't even clear whether or not they were keeping score.

She tilted her hat back, showing her face, as she marked each flyer in turn. She vaguely recognised one or two of them from school, but no-one from any of her classes. Her gaze slid down and across the stands, which were maybe a third full. A few people had noticed her and were standing up for a better look. She checked each face, one by one. A few more classmates. She recognised Flint and another Slytherin boy whose name she couldn't quite remember sitting together with a line of other fit young men and women; Ron had mentioned that they'd joined a team. Still no-one she wanted to speak to. Well, she hadn't expected much.

She made her way to an empty patch of the stands and sat down. She sat her bag on the seat to her left and pulled out a light jacket to lay over the seat to her right, keeping anyone from sitting next to her. That done, she sat back and watched the game above for five, ten minutes.

At length, she spoke aloud, to no-one in particular. "Not to brag, but my friends all know that I'm rather clever," she said, "and stubborn, and I have a bit of a temper. The stubbornness made me visit each wizarding settlement in Britain, some of them repeatedly, like Godric's Hollow. The cleverness made me realise I'd need insurance, and let me research a tracking spell that can be applied _very_ subtly, and which is _very_ difficult to remove unless you know exactly what you're looking for. I used it before I started speaking, of course. Actually following it apparently causes migraines for the user, so if I'm forced to do that, then the temper will take effect. I don't think either of us wants that. I'm quite certain _you_ don't."

There was nothing. She counted to four.

A pressure as of a finger touched her lips, then an unseen hand touched hers. She put the jacket back in her bag, shouldered that, and followed the disturbance down the aisle and out of the stadium. She settled her hat back in place as they left and headed away from the entrance courtyard, into a deserted alley behind a shop, with nothing but two brick walls, a row of bins, and a few chocolate wrappers. There was a ripple in the air as Harry took off his Invisibility Cloak.

"I should have known _you'd_ find me," he said, running his hand through his hair.

She took him in: he was a little taller, his hair longer, with the beginnings of a beard around his jaw. He was wearing faded robes and spectacles that looked wizard-made. More than all that, he felt _tired_, like it had been hours rather than years since Voldemort had died.

"You really should have," she said severely.

"How did you know I'd be _there_?" he asked.

"Quidditch," she said. "You weren't playing."

"Too much attention," he said. "I'd have to drink Polyjuice, and, well, I'm too good. They'd ask me to try out for the team."

"Mm," she said, eyes fixed on his. He looked away.

"Er, how are you and Ron going?" he tried. "You're still together, right?"

"We are," she nodded. "We're going … we're going. I'm starting to think maybe it was a mistake, though."

"You do?" he asked, eyes meeting hers for a split second.

"I've been trying to talk him into seeing a relationship counsellor with me," she said. "We barely see each other, we're so busy. He's trying to be an Auror and help run George's shop and play pro Quidditch all at once, and any one of those is a full-time job. That's why he isn't here, hasn't been helping me look for you. When we do see each other, we fight."

"That's … sad," said Harry.

"Because you thought we were a good match, or because it was _convenient_?" she asked, and was surprised at the anger in her own voice. He flinched. Too strong. She made a conscious effort to soften her face and tone. "Are you going to ask about Ginny?"

"I'm not sure I really want to know," he said.

"What happened to you, Harry?" she asked. "Walking out on me and Ron, I can almost understand –"

"Hermione," he said.

"– and everyone else, but _her_? The way she tells it, you were on the cusp of marriage when you disappeared."

"You wouldn't understand," he said.

She folded her arms.

"Hermione … there comes a time … when you have no choice but to withdraw from the world. I killed Voldemort. I've done everything anyone could have asked. And now …" He shrugged. "I'm living my own life. Away from all of that. Away from all the _expectations_. And it's … it's fantastic. I need this."

"The war's over, the aftermath isn't," she said. "The supremacist movement still isn't over, they still control a third of the Wizengamot outright."

"I'm done," said Harry. "I mean it. We battled them across Britain. The war's over now. I'm done."

"We're not physically, you know, trying to kill one another any more," Hermione said. "I would have thought you would have wanted to help again."

He snorted humourlessly. "You sound like Ginny."

"You don't sound like Harry," she replied, marvelling at the sound of her own voice. Had she always been that incisive, or had she picked it up working for the Ministry? Or from living with Ron?

Harry flinched as though she'd slapped him, then his face set. "Well, now you're sounding more like your old self," he retorted. "The first time we meet in two years, we haven't been talking for five minutes and already you're nagging me to do what _you_ want."

"This isn't about _me_," she snapped back. "This is about our friends, who _need_ you."

"And _there's_ the guilt trip," he said. "Boy, does that take me back."

"Harry," she said, and stopped. What could she say?

They stood and glared at one another.

"Tell Ron I said hi," he said, and lifted his Invisibility Cloak.

"Wait," said Hermione, looking for one more chance. "Harry … tell me that you're happy, where you are."

"I'm happy," he said without hesitation. "I don't have to fight any more. I don't want to fight any more. I'm finally getting a chance to just be me." He settled the Cloak on his back, and his torso blinked out of sight.

"I always tried to give you that," she said. Her voice cracked, and she hated herself for it. He could never refuse her when she cried.

There was silence.

Harry lowered the Cloak. "You always did, Hermione," he said.

"But Ginny didn't," she went on.

He looked away. "I shouldn't have said that."

"Was it her?" she asked.

Harry shook his head. "No. That was unfair of me. She was always sweet to me."

"But?"

"But. She saw me as the Boy-Who-Lived on some level, never really stopped." _I knew you wouldn't be happy unless you were hunting Voldemort._ He'd never repeated the words verbatim to her, but she'd figured out the gist.

"You don't need to come back to her," Hermione said, wondering when she'd become so casually ruthless. "I can explain everything to her if you want."

"I'm not going to hide behind you like that," he said.

"Are you going to tell me you're not hiding already?" she challenged.

He huffed. "And all the Weasleys?" he asked. "Ron won't let it go just like that, nor their parents."

She pictured how hurt they would all be, how much her own relationships with them would suffer when they realised what she'd done, and weighed them against how important it was that Harry return. She wasn't just clever, stubborn and hot-tempered; she was also more calculating than most Slytherins. She could only hope he wouldn't realise she'd bluffed about the tracking spell.

"They'll accept it," she said, _because I'll burn every bridge until they do_. "You're their – our friend. They'll understand."

"And you?"

She stepped forward and put her hands against his shoulders. She gently pushed him against the wall, then folded her arms around him. He was just at the right height that her chin rested on his shoulder. He balled his hands and held her tight.

They stayed that way for long minutes.

Hermione said, "If you want, you don't have to keep fighting. Really. If anyone's earned a break from that, it's you, and it's fine. It might take a bit longer, but we can bring down the discriminatory laws without you, if we work hard enough. But don't leave _me_."

He rubbed his fists down her back. "I promise."


End file.
